The Killing Type
by LibertineQueen
Summary: 'There's a place by his side where he knows Sarah would fit perfectly, but it's Ellie who against all odds had the capacity to live...' Oneshot.


**Author's Note: I don't claim to own any part of The Last of Us, this work is strictly for entertainment!**

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**The Killing Type**

"_Just one peaceful night; a clean conscience - all gone..."_

He rounds the corner and perches behind an abandoned car, a few seconds later and Ellie is right by his side. Their movements are graceful and quick, motivated by rage and a desire to survive. He leans forward on his toes to scan the area, beads of perspiration drip from his forehead into his eyes and for just a moment he is stupid enough to think they're in the clear. He wipes his face with his arm and that's when he hears the sound.

Clickers.

Fucking no good piece of shit clickers. Five of them.

"Dammit." He mumbles quietly, to himself more than to Ellie, who he takes a glance at only to find her fingering the smooth metal of the revolver in her hands. He always said he wouldn't give her a gun, but they were beyond that now. She's a hell of a shot actually, and though he knows that he is the one protecting her, he finds himself almost reassured that another person has his back.

If there was one thing that could be said about Joel, it's that since the day Sarah died in his arms he carried a weight on his shoulders like no other man. There's a place by his side where he knows Sarah would fit perfectly, but it's Ellie who against all odds had the capacity to live. He's grown exceptionally fond of her; although sometimes at night he lies awake and wonders whether or not he'd trade Ellie for Sarah. If he could bring his daughter back, have Ellie die instead, would he? It's a dark goddamn idea but he knows he would. Only Ellie isn't a normal girl, she's a genetic wonder, a possible cure for everything. So if he could get Sarah back at the expense of the world, would he? The mere fact that he's conflicted makes him feel like a traitor to Sarah and to Ellie and to himself. He longs for normality.

He crawls forward and takes another look over the hood of the car. Five clickers against two survivors with little to no ammo. It would seem completely hopeless except that in times like these Joel finds himself in a perpetual state of déjà vu. It seems like they've made this journey together a thousand times. Through a decimated wasteland he and Ellie rise and fall as one. He remembers with great clarity the times that he's almost gotten her killed, when he's dropped his guard for just a second and then there she is, pushing tooth and nail against an infected. He also remembers when he'd fallen unconscious from a bullet wound and woken up to find her trying to fix him. In the end he'd had to talk her through the process of removing the bullet and stitching up the wound, only his skills in that area were mediocre at best. Impromptu surgery had always been Tess' area of expertise.

He'd survived, only he didn't know how and it was days like these that he wished that he'd died right there. He's too stubborn for suicide, but he knows that everything would be a whole lot easier if he'd just…faded to black.

A clicker rounds up beside the car and Joel is able to take it by surprise, lodging a shiv through its head, killing it instantly. The commotion rouses the others, and before he knows it he and Ellie are shooting and punching and doing everything they can to kill the fuckers. He hates them; he hates the infected so goddamn much that it makes his blood boil. He shoots another clicker directly in the face as it gets up close, and he doesn't even care when its blood splatters onto his face. Let it stay there. War paint.

He tries to keep an eye on Ellie even as he fights, he knows she has weapons but he also knows that she's just a child. Didn't matter that the world was ending, that she was a killer as much as he was, she was still a child. He thinks back to Sarah for a second and is almost glad that she's not alive to deal with this shit. Then with all the rage of a grieving father he charges another clicker, slashing with a machete until it falls to the ground. He keeps at it even after he knows its dead, he doesn't notice now that the area is clear and Ellie is watching him. What kind of man does she think he is? He knows she's at that age where she over-thinks everything. Does she see a father, a friend, a stranger, a killer? The thing is you wouldn't know it now but Joel was not the killing type. It seemed something of a fluke that he was even around at all; he put it down to sheer fucking luck.

It didn't matter what she thought of him really, since he was all she had.

He doesn't realize it but he's frozen half way between hitting the dead clicker again. Ellie catches his eye and Joel shrugs, awkwardly lowering the weapon and staring at his feet. Speaking of over-thinking things, he was the number one perpetrator in this little pairing. These days Joel's instinct tends to take him over; he forgets how real all this shit is, almost like he's in denial that this is actually happening to him.

He shifts his posture, rolling his shoulders and slipping the machete back into its holster on his belt. Ellie observes as he seems to change from a visibly shaken, almost vulnerable, man into the in-control, power Joel that she loves. She doesn't know why exactly, but when he sleeps Joel has nightmares, he cries out things that in turn leave her silently weeping. Ellie never asks about it, knows that he carries a deep pain with him, she just tries to encourage the strength and power she knows is in there too. This is what she sees as he composes himself, and then the two of them scour the area for any remaining infected.

"All clear," she calls out to him with a perky thumbs up.

This makes him smile for just a second, "Alright. We're good to go."

"Yeah," She scampers over to Joel to walk at his side. A little way down the road and she takes hold of his hand. He doesn't let go for the next three hours.


End file.
